A drunken Mr Todd
by F.D. Tamms
Summary: The title says it all. Mr. Todd hits the bottle and asks Mrs. Lovett some strange things. Rated T for Drunkness. Sort of Sweenet, I guess. I definitely support that pairing, so I guess this could be considered Sweenet .


"Mr. Todd. Will you go up soon?" Mrs. Lovett was sitting at the table in her pie shop.

She was exhausted, her eyelids drooping, her head resting on her hands.

Sweeney Todd sat across from her. He was drinking directly from the bottle of gin. At her question he glared at her.

But she wasn't going to give up so easily.

"I'm so tired, Mr. T," she said. "I'm so tired."

He glared at her again.

His eyes were unfocused, dreamy. "Go to bed, then."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You'll drink yourself to death if I leave you alone."

He shook his head madly at her statement. Mrs. Lovett was concerned, but also somewhat amused. He was vulnerable in this state, and she enjoyed that a bit.

"I won't," he mumbled.

She sighed. "You will."

He glared at her again then, his eyes a bit crossed. "I WON'T." he growled, taking another swig from the bottle.

Mrs. Lovett looked at him pityingly. She wasn't certain of why he had chosen tonight to hit the bottle, but he had. How could she have refused him?

"Well…" she sighed, stumbling sleepily out of her seat, "put the bottle up high when you're done, then. Can't have it in a place where Toby can reach it, now, can we?"

He said nothing in response.

"G'night, Mr. T."

She left him, worried but far too tired to worry** too** much. She checked on Toby in the parlor room—he was sleeping soundly near the fire, his head resting on one of the couch pillows.

In her own room, she unlaced her clothes quickly, hating the bite of the cold air on her body as she slid into her ratty old night gown.

Mrs. Lovett's bed was old and it's mattress sagged from the weight that had once been applied to it (Mr. Lovett had been of gratuitous girth), but she loved it just the same—her sheets and quilts were warmer than any others could ever hope to be. That night she snuggled into them with a vengeance, her curly head nestled into the pillows. Her eyes closed and she was off to sleep quickly, but it didn't last.

It seemed like only moments had passed when her door was knocked on.

Mrs. Lovett sat up drowsily in bed, her hair even more deranged than it usually was, her disposition irritable.

"Hmmph?" She mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"—ssus Lovett?"

She shook her head, trying to comprehend. "What?"

Her door opened suddenly and fiercely. She pulled her covers up to her chin, fearful of what was coming. It was Sweeney Todd. He was hunched over, clutching the door as though for dear life. "Missus Lovett?" He slurred, his speech impaired.

Mrs. Lovett was quite alarmed. She stood up, wrapping herself in a robe. "Mr. Todd?" She whispered, "What're you doing in here?" She desperately wanted to go back to sleep but she did not want to leave him like this. She approached him cautiously, her heart fluttering nervously.

He suddenly stood upright and she jumped. Looking her directly in the eye, Sweeney Todd spoke seriously. "Will you marry me?" She flushed sharply. "Er…what?" She asked.

It was what she had always wanted to hear. Ever since she had first met him so many years ago, she had wanted to hear him say those four little words, shortly after he had said "I love you". But she hadn't planned it like this—in her fantasies he hadn't been under the influence.

He looked her even more closely in the eye—or as closely as he could get, for he was cross-eyed again. "Will you," he paused as though trying to remember what it was he had been saying, "marry me?"

Mrs. Lovett wanted to say "yes, yes, of course, a thousand times yes!" but instead she said, "No, love. You're drunk. You won't even remember this tomorrow."

He came closer to her then. "NOT drunk," he said.

She backed away a little but he continued to get closer to her. "You don't want to marry me," she insisted. She knew that she was protecting herself just as much as she was protecting him.

He shook his head.

"Marry me." Mrs. Lovett shrank away from the horrid scent of his breath. "I won't."

He sighed heavily, sounding most unlike himself. "Then I'll have to change your mind." And, without warning, he bent over and grabbed her, scooping her up off the ground and into his arms.

Mrs. Lovett screamed silently, not wanting to wake Toby.

Todd was strangely strong for someone so drunk—he turned clumsily, though, nearly crashing into Mrs. Lovett's doorframe. "C'mon, love," he slurred.

She clutched him tightly, terrified that he would drop her or—worse—that he would fall and they would both be hurt. "Mr. T, put me down!" She cried.

He didn't listen, though—in fact, he chuckled. They walked slowly and dreamily towards the stairs, and Mrs. Lovett clung to his neck for dear life.

The stairs were far too narrow for two people to go up them at the same time let alone in the manner Todd and Mrs. Lovett were attempting, but Todd's drunken logic had forgotten that minor detail. He charged up, not pausing when Mrs. Lovett's ankles or his own elbows bumped into the walls.

She knew they were headed to the barber shop when she felt the wind—they had come outside. The wind was wickedly strong and Mrs. Lovett dug her fingers into Todd's back she was so terrified. He stumbled and tripped up the stairs and she tried desperately to not look down or up or out or anywhere at all.

She heard the tinkle of the bell on Todd's door and knew that they had reached the shop, but her spirits weren't soothed.

"Put me down," she squeaked into his shoulder, but he didn't listen. "You're mine, Missus Lovett," he mumbled. "You're gonna be my wife, 'cuz I don't have one anymore."

He set her down on the floor and she sat, confused, until he moved over her. He then gently pressed her against the floor, and, to be truthful, she didn't mind—he was so gentle, she barely felt scared anymore. "What do you mean, Mr. T?" she whispered into his hair.

He was just lying on top of her now, unmoving. "Sixteen years ago. Sixteen years ago today I had a wife but she was MURDERED," he mumbled. "Sixteen years ago today I asked her to marry me an' now she's gone and I guess I need a new wife and you like me, right, Mrs. Lovett? You like me, so I could have you for a wife." He spoke it all very fast and the words blended together at times, but she understood him anyway.

"I just miss her so much." He whispered, and he had never been so vulnerable and quiet and sad. Mrs. Lovett felt a tear roll down her cheek.

She was a replacement for Lucy.

She knew that.

But at least she had a purpose to him—a use other than his pie baker.

"I'll marry you, then. Okay, Mr. Todd?"

But he wasn't listening. He had fallen asleep.

And even though she was cold and sad and uncomfortable, Mrs. Lovett was so exhausted and utterly content that she fell asleep, too, her fingers still entwined in his hair.

* * *

Sweeney Todd awoke with a groan. His head throbbed and he felt unnaturally comfortable, lying in something sweet-smelling and soft.

When he looked up he was shocked to see that what he had thought was a pillow was actually Mrs. Lovett. She was underneath him, looking haggard and put-upon but utterly content.

Her skin was ice-cold.

He had no idea how she had come to be there or why. All he knew was that his head hurt and he didn't like that one bit.


End file.
